


The Code Red Affair

by lilidelafield



Series: Katiya [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As UNCLE agents start to mysteriously get sick and die, Illya starts to behave a little oddly...</p><p>This story is a stand-alone, but it is also an epilogue for my story The Lake of Tears Affair</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Code Red Affair

A.N: I trust everyone will forgive me for creating and inventing laws and customs to suit myself for this tale. In my own defence, I will just say that in the world of fiction, all things are possible!

The Code Red Affair

As Solo walked through the tailor's shop, he heard a clink behind him. He turned and nodded at Illya just entering. They nodded at the proprietor in unison and Illya followed Solo into the changing room. They faintly heard the little hiss of steam as the door-lock was released for them and they entered UNCLE headquarters. In the reception room he turned to his friend.

"Morning Illya."

Illya nodded stiffly, but didn't smile. He seemed somehow distracted. He greeted the receptionist genially enough though, accepted his security badge with the number 2 on it and fixed it to his lapel whilst Solo flirted with the girl. Solo caught Illya rolling his eyes and grinned. He took his own badge with the II printed on it, indicating he was the chief enforcement agent, second in command of the place under Mr Waverley; and fixed it to his own jacket.

"You all right my friend?"

Illya frosted him with a glare as he walked off. Solo frowned after him in puzzlement for a moment, and exchanged a shrug with Sheila.

"Maybe he got out of bed the wrong side. See you later."

Solo hurried after his friend.

"Illya wait. Are you sure you're all right? You seem a little…."

"I seem a little what Napoleon?"

To his surprise, Solo found his normally glib tongue had nothing to say. What was with Illya this morning? He wasn't usually surly or short-tempered like this. Illya saw the wounded look flash across his friend's face and he was suddenly stricken.

"Oh Napoleon, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I've been growling and barking all morning."

"Are you sick?"

"No, it's just been a very bad morning." Illya told him grimly.

"Not a hangover then?"

"No. I trod on my landlady's blasted cat half-way down the stairs and ripped my favourite jacket and bruised my shin as well as my ego and had to go back home to change. Then the wind blew the bedroom door open and it hit me in the face and gave me a nosebleed. Once I had stopped the bleeding I had to get changed again. When I finally made it outside my car wouldn't start and made me call a cab. The dumb cab-driver trapped my fingers in the car door. He's lucky I didn't sue him and he had the infernal cheek to abuse me for refusing to give him a tip!"

Solo burst out laughing. Illya glared at him for a moment, then reluctantly gave a chuckle.

"I now have a suit to get mended, a shirt to get cleaned, three fingers that feel like they've been broken, as well as a large purple bruise on my left shin and a splitting headache. How's your day been so far?"

Solo thought it prudent not to go into that at this moment. He clapped Illya on the shoulder.

"Get your hand checked out right away, then meet me in Mr Waverley's office."

Illya nodded, and headed down a side corridor towards medical.

Napoleon Solo paused at the open door of Waverley's office, then smiled when the chief looked up and beckoned him inside.

"Good morning Mr Solo. Where's our Russian friend?"

"He's in medical."

"He's ill?"

"He's had an altercation with a careless cabbie and a heavy car door."

"Ouch! Well, we have a couple of things to talk about this morning. There is the visit of the Soviet Premier and his entourage this week. I intend putting Mister Kuryakin in charge of the security arrangements, so we'll cover that when he gets here. In the meantime, there is something I need to show you. Your next assignment will require more than one operative, but of course, your partner will be busy with the Soviet delegation, so I propose assigning Slate and Dancer to assist you with this one."

"Something big then, sir?"

Waverly nodded. He pressed a button and a series of pictures flashed across the view-screen, cities around the world and newspaper clippings. The computer relayed the UNCLE commentator's message over the pictures.

"Over the past three days, we have been getting reports of UNCLE agents getting sick and dying. One agent in Calcutta, one in Brisbane and two in Pretoria. Just odd incidents you would believe, except for the fact that in each case, the individual had been perfectly healthy and had shown no symptoms at all until they suddenly appeared. Post mortem examinations in each case failed to find any satisfactory cause of death. The symptoms had each suggested some very nasty disease as being the cause, but the post-mortem failed to find any trace of contamination at all. No germ, viral infection, or anything else. It is therefore assumed that THRUSH have yet again come up with a new weapon of destruction. If this weapon is not discovered and destroyed, it could end civilisation as we know it."

Solo sat back, aghast.

"I gather the three offices are already working on the case?"

Waverly nodded.

"They were isolated cases, and nothing has shown up since anywhere…as yet at least, but we need to work fast. I would prefer Illya to work with you on this as well, so as soon as his task is over with the Soviets, I will be assigning him to join you. Make sure that I know where to send him."

Napoleon nodded sombrely. This was going to be a tough one.

In medical, Doctor Peterson examined Illya's damaged hand very carefully and finally looked up.

"Bad news Mr Kuryakin."

"What!?" Illya looked dismayed. Peterson grinned at him.

"The bad news is you will have to return to work I'm afraid. Your fingers are not badly damaged, merely bruised. See, your fingernails are starting to turn black. They'll throb for a day or two, but no danger at all."

Illya heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank you doctor."

He was about to get up when the doctor pushed him lightly by the shoulder.

"Please wait for a moment. You've recently had a nosebleed?"

"Yes. A rare moment of clumsiness."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Two clumsy moments in one day? Rare indeed for an UNCLE operative."

"Three clumsy moments actually. I fell down the stairs in my apartment building. Trod on my landlady's silly cat. I don't know which of us got the bigger shock, me or the cat. It usually does nothing but sleep, like a great, fat ginger cushion. I've never seen the thing run so fast!"

The doctor frowned. UNCLE operatives were never as a rule clumsy, and Illya Kuryakin was one of the best. Solo was the chief operative, but Peterson was secretly sure that if Solo had not had two years' seniority, it would be Kuryakin who would be the senior of the two. For him to turn up at work with several minor injuries as the result of a series of domestic accidents put down as simple clumsiness was hardly credible. He picked up a pen-light and flashed it into his patient's eyes. Illya blinked and turned away. The doctor clicked it off and leaned back against the bench behind him.

"Headache Mr Kuryakin?"

"I told you I hit my head on the door."

"Actually you said you hit your nose on the door. Hardly enough to cause a headache."

"Maybe I am coming down with a cold then. I often get them."

"I know. Are you sure you're telling the truth about these little spates of…clumsiness?"

Illya frowned.

"What are you suggesting? I'm saying that when my landlady's cat gets out, it has a bad habit of sleeping on the stairs, which is why she usually keeps him out of the hallway. The bulb had gone on the stairwell and I just didn't see the cat until I trod on the darn thing's tail! It's a windy day outside and I love listening to the wind at night which is why I left the window open. I just neglected to shut it. But since I'm on the fourth floor I don't see what difference that makes. As for my fingers, I would speak to the driver of cab 359, but be aware he'll expect a large tip. I don't know why my car didn't start. If I hadn't had to change clothes twice I would have had time to check it out but as it was I was already late, so I simply hailed a passing taxi. I am assuming the headache is the result of banging my head on the bannister as I fell down the stairs after my encounter with the cat, but I am open to suggestions DOCTOR!"

Doctor Peterson held up his two hands in surrender.

"Alright, I give in! I'll take your word for it for the time being, but I'm still not entirely satisfied. I want to do a full physical on you before Mr Waverley sends you out on any more assignments."

Illya closed his eyes for a long moment, his mouth tightly clamped shut. When he replied, it was evident he was holding fast to his temper, afraid he might lose it.

"Fine!"

When he was gone, Doctor Peterson shook his head slowly. No, something was definitely wrong there. What it was he couldn't quite put his finger on, but there was definitely something amiss.

Illya arrived in Mr Waverley's office beneath an almost tangible thundercloud, and after greeting his chief politely, he sat himself down and stared moodily ahead. Waverley and Solo exchanged concerned glances.

"Mr Kuryakin, I was just discussing with Mr Solo here the security arrangements for the arrival of the Soviet Head of State next month. As you have the advantage of language, I want you to take the lead, liaising between our security and his own, and taking command of the American security team."

"Sir." Illya replied, and took the proffered file and started reading it through. Again Waverley and Solo looked at each other. This was not like Illya at all. Normally, Illya would have been actively thinking about what arrangements might be needed, anything special that might need to be put in place, asking to be told verbally what had already been sorted out and making his own suggestions right away. This silent preoccupation was so unlike him. Solo cleared his throat.

"Oh, Illya, what did the doctor say?"

"Huh? About what?"

"About your hand. You hurt your fingers didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. He said I'd have colourful fingernails for a bit, but other than that they'll be fine in a day or two."

There was something else, Waverley was certain. He hadn't been doing this job so long without learning how to read people. Kuryakin was certainly holding something back.

"…And….?" He prompted. Illya sighed.

"…And he is insisting on giving me a full physical before you send me out anywhere…sir."

Solo's eyebrows went up at that. Doctor Peterson was thorough certainly, but he was not known for being pedantic. If he wanted to give Illya a physical, then it meant he thought he had reason for concern. And if that was true, then something was almost certainly wrong with the young Russian. Peterson was seldom found to be mistaken. Waverley reached out his hand.

"Only a fool argues with the doctor Mr Kuryakin. Go and see Doctor Peterson now and give him your full cooperation. Once he is satisfied, you can start reviewing your security arrangements. In the meantime, Mr Solo can find out what has happened so far and prepare a full report for you."

Illya paused for a fraction of a second, then closed the file with a snap and handed it back to his boss and got to his feet.

"Yes sir." As he swept out of the room, he seemed somehow very Russian. His gentle Russian accent had suddenly been unaccountably thick. When he was gone, Waverley's eyes searched Solo's face. Napoleon looked slightly uncomfortable.

"It is unlike Mr Kuryakin to be so…on edge." Waverley announced thoughtfully. "Has he been acting like that all morning?"

"Illya told me he had had a number of mishaps this morning. Fell down the stairs this morning after treading on his landlady's cat apparently, and ruined a jacket, he collided with a door and ruined a shirt then his car refused to start and when he got here the careless cab driver trapped his fingers on the car door. He's been a little…testy I'd say, but nothing too serious."

"Mr Kuryakin is often a somewhat…taciturn individual, but he is not ill-tempered." Waverley commented. "Clearly Doctor Peterson thinks there may be some other underlying cause."

"You mean some kind of sickness that makes a person short-tempered and clumsy? Perhaps he is simply reverting to being a teenager again?"

Waverley chuckled. He handed the security file over to Solo.

"You can investigate the arrangements to date, and if Doctor Peterson okays him, you can hand it over lock, stock and barrel to Mr Kuryakin when he returns from medical."

In medical, Illya sat as patiently as he could whilst the Doctor performed his tests. He had run on the treadmill seemingly forever, been poked and prodded and now needles and syringes with samples of all kinds sat in a long row on the bench, the doctor busily labelling them. Finally, he indicated the bed.

"Make yourself at home while I have these analysed. Lie down for a bit."

"I don't want to lie down Doctor, I have work to do…."

"No you don't Mr Kuryakin, not until I say so, now lie down and rest. You need the sleep. If you don't lie down I will sedate you!"

Grinding his teeth in annoyance, Illya lay down on the bed, but the memory of last night's nightmare haunted him and he sat up again. The nurse kindly tried to lay him down again and when she felt him resisting, she looked at him more closely, suddenly concerned. She had watched the doctor put this man through gruelling physical exercises and he had come through them all with flying colours. He was a very fit young man indeed and had not even broken a sweat. But now at the thought of laying down in medical he was breaking out in tiny beads of sweat. What was wrong?

"Illya, what is wrong? You seem unsettled…even afraid of something. Are you afraid of falling asleep in public?"

Illya shook his head.

"No I'm fine. Nothing's wrong with me. Nothing at all. Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Because you're not acting like yourself Illya. Your behaviour today is atypical to say the least. There are two reasons why that might be. And you know what they are better even than I do."

"Either I am an imposter, or something is wrong with me. I know. I am definitely me! But what could be wrong with me to make my car fail to start? Are you telling me that clumsiness is now a sickness? That I might wake up one morning and phone headquarters and say ` Sorry Mr Waverley, I won't be coming to work, I'm feeling very clumsy today!?"

His voice reeked with sarcasm, and the nurse's mouth twitched.

"There's a first time for everything. Why don't you want to lie down? Be honest, please Illya?"

Illya opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was tired, he had not slept a night through for almost a week. He looked away, reluctant to discuss it even with her. When he looked up, she had a syringe in her hand.

"I'm sorry Illya, this is in your best interests…"

He opened his mouth to protest, but she plunged the syringe into his shoulder. He collapsed into her arms like a sack of potatoes, and she carefully laid him out fully on the bed.

When Illya awakened, he had to admit he felt a lot better having had some sleep at last, but to his annoyance Doctor Peterson was not happy with the results of his tests and he refused to confirm his fitness for active duty.

"You don't have to stay here in medical, Mister Kuryakin, so long as you remain within the building. I am not happy about some unknowns I have found in your blood-works, so I'm taking them down to the labs and we'll be putting them to even more thorough examination."

"Why won't you believe me when I tell you I feel fine?"

"I do believe you, but I really do not believe you will stay fine if we don't find out the cause of the anomalies. I'll inform Mister Waverly. I suggest you find some way to keep yourself out of mischief for the time being."

The doctor picked up a worryingly thick sheef of papers, and his tray of test tubes and left the room. Illya growled in frustration, and was stopped in his tracks by an announcement over the PA system.

"Mister Kuryakin, please report to reception. Mister Kuryakin to reception."

"What now?" he muttered to himself as he marched out of the room.

In reception, when he arrived, he had a visitor waiting for him. Marion Raven. He and Marion had had a couple of dates following their adventures with her a couple of years ago, but although Illya still thought of her often, he had not gotten around to calling her again. He was fond of her, but had not taken seriously any idea of a romance with her.

"Marion. Hello."

"Illya, sorry to interrupt you at work, but I had to see you…I was worrying about you…"

Illya could see Janice, the young woman on reception drinking it all in, and spoke to her.

"Visitor's badge please."

Janice handed over a visitor's badge and handed it to Illya who gently clipped it to Marion's lapel.

"Come, we'll get a coffee in the commissary, and you can explain why you are worried."

Marion smiled and followed him through into the inner sanctum of UNCLE where few were privileged to enter.

In the commissary, they took seats in the corner table where Illya knew no one would dare interrupt without good reason. He made sure that he was facing the room and poured her coffee for her from the pot.

"So why were you worried? So worried that you followed me in here?"

"I saw you fall down the stairs…"

Illya's eyebrows rose.

"You did?"

"Yes, Mrs Burrows cat again. You actually trod on the poor thing's tail."

"Marion, I love cats, but that beast is a menace to all mankind!"

Marion smiled.

"He does tend to get underfoot, but I don't know how you didn't see him Illya, you were looking at him right before you trod on him. I even thought you had done it on purpose for a moment, until you fell headlong down the stairs."

"Wait a minute, you were there?"

Marion nodded.

"Eva Burrows is a client. I was just coming down the stairs after checking out the roof, when I saw you come out of your apartment. I called out to you and said hello. You looked up, and then looked away so I assumed you hadn't seen me and that's when you looked down at the cat on the floor. I was just behind you when you started to fall. I ran down the stairs to make sure you were all right, but you passed me on your way back up. For the second time you ignored me when I said hello, went into your apartment and slammed the door closed. That's when I knew that something was different. I know you would never ignore me usually, Illya."

Illya was frowning in puzzlement. He had not seen her. He had no recollection of either seeing her or hearing her speaking. Was he going blind and deaf then? Or just so preoccupied that he was walking around ignoring everyone? He took her hand.

"I'm sorry Marion. I was preoccupied, but I do not know how it was I did not see you."

"Well I had to go in to see Mrs Burrows, but when I finished with her and went downstairs to the lobby, the postman was there with a special delivery letter for you. He asked me if I knew which apartment was yours, so I brought it for you. If it is as urgent as he seemed to think…"

She fished in her bag and brought out a large envelope. The postmark showed that it been posted in Italy. Illya frowned. Whom did he know in Italy? She watched as he opened the envelope and drew out an official looking letter and started to read. His eyes opened wide, first in surprise and then with something else…horror? His face turned grey and before her horrified eyes, he began to seize, his whole body rigid, his eyes wide in fear and bewilderment, then he passed out.

Sometime later, Mr Waverley received an internal call from Doctor Peterson. Solo looked up apprehensively as he heard the identity of the caller. Doctor Peterson had informed himself and Mister Waverly earlier in the day that he was keeping Illya in the building and on a very short leash until certain test results had been received and checked, and until then they should continue without him. About half an hour later, they had received information that Illya had been rushed back into medical after having had a seizure of some kind in the commissary and no one was to come down to medical until further notice, unless they were dying. No one knew anything at all. Marion Raven for some reason was in the building. She had been with Illya in the commissary and was refusing to go anywhere until she knew he was all right. Solo and Waverly both knew better than to tangle with an angry or worried Marion Raven.

So far, Illya had been in medical for most of the day, and Napoleon was becoming very worried about his friend. Waverly answered the intercom.

"Yes Doctor Peterson. You have something to tell me about my number 2 operative?"

"Yes Mr Waverley, but I think you need to come down here in person sir. Just you and Mr Solo."

"Very well."

Waverley hung up the phone abruptly and stood up.

"Come along Mr Solo. You and I have been summoned to medical. I think there must be some news at last."

When they arrived, they saw only one bed occupied, in the furthest corner, and it had a curtain around it. Peterson was monitoring some equipment. He glanced up and gave Waverley a nod and turned to the nurse.

"Watch very closely, Ireni and let me know at the slightest change."

He came over, a strained look on his face.

"A strange one Mr Waverley, and a very worrying one indeed. I need to issue a full Code Red immediately. Recall every agent working in the field. Don't let them go home. They must come here where they can be kept under strict observation…Code Red to last indefinitely."

For two seconds Waverley's mouth dropped, but then he was all action. Code Red meant the complete closure of this particular HQ, all current assignments passed on to another UNCLE HQ, and every UNCLE unit around the globe being put on full alert status. No Doctor would do that without certain cause. He crossed to the control panel and flicked a switch.

"Alexander Waverley, Number One, Section One, U.N.C.L.E New York Headquarters, to all agents. This is a Code Red. I repeat A Code Red is in force in New York. Every UNCLE base to go to full alert status and standby. Paris, London and Geneva standby to receive Code Red Transfers immediately!"

He turned back to the doctor who gestured them to follow him to the corner, where the last bed was hidden by the surrounding curtains. On the bed, stripped down to his skivvies, chest laid bare lay Illya. He was drenched with perspiration, not just on his face but his entire body. The sheet on which he lay was damp as the perspiration soaked into it. He was surrounded by tubes and monitors of all sorts, watching his heart-rate, his pulse, his breathing. Several tubes led from his mouth to a nearby machine, and a large breathing tube led from a mask over his nose to a life-support machine which was forcing oxygen into Illya's lungs as the Russian struggled to breathe.

"Wha…what…?" Solo faltered as he stared at the horrific scene. He turned to Waverly.

"Sir, this looks like…"

Waverly nodded. The doctor sighed.

"This is a nasty one Mr Waverley, Mr Solo. I have been briefed on the UNCLE deaths that have been occurring globally these last couple of days. That is partly why I was on greater alert to anything even slightly unusual coming into medical. That is also why I have taken longer than usual to study all available data. It took me most of the day, but I really had to be sure of my ground before declaring a Code Red emergency. Mr Kuryakin has been poisoned...but not a one off. It is something that he has taken or been given systematically over a period of days or even weeks. The substance is some kind of a neurotoxin that begins by lowering the brain's ability to control moods, making the person liable to disturbed sleep patterns and nightmares. Side effects include clumsiness and irritability. But this neurotoxin is a sleeping tiger, waiting for a catalyst."

"And what is the catalyst?"

"I would say that would likely depend on the individual, but something certainly that involves putting the brain at some strain or other. In the case of Mr Kuryakin, they…whoever `they' are, know the patient well enough to know the kind of man he is. That he is a very secretive and self-contained person, who prefers to keep his personal life strictly private, and by the same token generally keeps his feelings to himself. I believe the catalyst in his case was engineered deliberately to …er…light the fuse as it were."

"Well? What did they do to him?"

The Doctor took a deep breath.

"I expected to have to do a lot of research and probing into his private life in order to find that out, but the young woman who was with him when he suffered his seizure was able to provide the information I was looking for."

Waverly nodded.

"Yes indeed, Miss Raven I believe? She is still around?"

"Yes, up in the guest quarters at the moment. When she knew Mister Kuryakin was sick she refused to go…she'll be trapped here now with the rest of you…"

Waverly held up his hand, but Solo spoke first.

"Doctor, please, what started this off? Some kind of mental trauma did you say?"

"Well, no I didn't actually say that, but that's what it boils down to I suppose...look Mister Waverly, I confiscated the letter from the young woman…I think you ought to see it."

Waverly opened the letter and read it through, and then without a word handed it to Napoleon who read it swiftly. The letter said, in part:

"…so sorry to have to inform you that the body of Kir Yuriyev Kossov has been found by Italian police washed up on a beach in Ravello. The body of a fair haired young girl of approximately seven years old was found just half a mile away with a bullet wound to her face. It is believed to be the body of Katiya Mikhailovna Kuryakina. As you are the only living relation of both these victims, their belongings will be sent to you. It would be appreciated if you will indicate your wishes in the matter of their burial…"

Napoleon stared at Waverly in shock. If the person responsible for poisoning the Russian wanted to induce sudden shock or grief, then they could not have done better. Katiya, the six-year old daughter of Illya's late brother Mikhail and her grandfather had had to go into official protection a year ago as they were both being sought by THRUSH as targets. Katiya and Illya had become very close during their short time together, to the point where Katiya had started calling her Uncle Illya papa. Their enforced separation had already broken Illya's heart. Knowledge of her death, even unconfirmed would truly destroy him. Napoleon remembered how losing her had affected his partner at the time. He glanced at Waverly. The old man had turned white, but he simply shook his head slightly.

Napoleon folded the letter and put in his inside pocket, and returned his attention to the doctor.

The doctor realised that he had their full attention.

"There's no way to know for certain how the poison itself is being administered, but it appears to have the closest affinity with water, so it seems most likely to have been added to his personal water supply. I have the Los Angeles medical Team on their way to check out the water supply to the home of every New York UNCLE agent, and the other services too. I would appreciate it, Mister Waverly, if that message could be sent to every UNCLE office so that they can all perform similar checks. In the meantime, I need to perform tests on every man here to make sure that no one else has been effected the same as Illya has."

"Right away doctor." Waverly replied, and he moved across to the communications panel, dictated the message and have his instructions. A moment later he was back.

"Very well Doctor Peterson, your report and recommendation are being relayed across the globe in code to every UNCLE office. Please can you now tell us how Mister Kuryakin is being affected by this poison? Is there an antidote of some kind?"

Peterson gestured at the array of equipment.

"He's dying. The neurotoxin is simulating the symptoms of various deadly and may I say painful diseases, and the brain is working overtime trying to cope. The brain is over-producing adrenalin and other chemicals and poisoning itself. One by one Illya's bodily functions are breaking down. Finally, he will die."

"Can't he fight it? Isn't there something we can do to help?"

"Cut off the source of the poison and hope he can stay alive long enough for every last drain of it to leave his system. I guess it depends how strong he is."

He gestured down at Illya, lying still.

"He is fighting hard, I can tell you that, but in this case it is having the opposite effect. The harder he fights, the faster he will die. He is heavily sedated now. When he first woke up in medical, he was in so much agony that he was literally screaming. I had to sedate him in order to give him some relief. Before long he will slip into a coma. Once that happens, he will be completely on his own. I'm sorry Mr Solo, but I can't hold out much hope, even for a man as extraordinary as Mr Kuryakin."

Back in Waverley's office, listening to the bustling sounds coming from the rest of the base as UNCLE agents returned from their various assignments and were updated on the new crisis, Waverley and Solo sat almost numbed.

"Mister Waverly, I had the impression a year ago that you knew where Kossov and the child were hiding."

"No Mister Solo. The details of that I delegated to Wilhelm Tarasov of the Moscow Office. I suspect this has been done by someone from THRUSH, who knows about The Mikhail Affair, has guessed that Illya would care about the child and is using that fact to produce the desired reaction."

"It could be that they moved, or have gone on holiday."

"Unlikely…but our Moscow and Rome offices are looking into it anyway. They will be able to at least confirm or deny their identities. Until then it would be best to regard the reports as rumour rather than tragic fact."

Solo nodded. He was keenly missing his friend, especially knowing that there was a high possibility that Illya may not survive this crisis. Illya was his best friend. The best friend he had ever had actually, and they made a good team out in the field. The best. There was no one Solo would rather have at his back than Illya. If Illya died, Enforcement Agent Callum Bates, currently Section Two Number Three would be promoted to Number two. He and Callum would be thrown together. Callum was a nice enough guy, but he was just not...he was not Illya! He heard a cough and looked up, realising that Waverley had been watching him. Waverley could see that his Chief Agent was having trouble dealing with this situation, but now more than ever he needed Solo to be clear-headed.

"Mr Solo, you and Mr Kuryakin work well together. You are able to rely on one another in the field. You trust him with your life do you?"

"Always, sir. Illya's the best."

Waverley gave a little smile.

"Well if you can trust him with your life, you can surely trust him with his own can't you?"

Solo nodded.

"Indeed sir, under normal circumstances, but he's just learned that his niece has been murdered...the little girl who calls him papa. Would you be so eager to keep living after something like that?"

Waverley had no reply. He got up and poured out a small scotch for Napoleon and handed it over, then he poured another for himself.

"Only good thing, Slate and Dancer have been on assignment for three months, and when the code red was issued, they had themselves checked out at the Rio office. They are both all clear. Now that we are in Code Red, we are completely locked in and they are locked out, so I have assigned them to take over Mister Kuryakin's assignment with the Soviet delegation."

Napoleon nodded his approval. Mark and April were sound and sensible, and very skilled. They would do a good job.

Nurse Ireni Chandler sat beside Mr Kuryakin, watching him tossing his head from side to side, muttering incoherently in some foreign language… presumably Russian. One name kept coming up over and over: Katiya. Water was pouring from his face in a steady stream, and his temperature was still going up. How much longer could the man survive a fever like this? Everything had been tried to lower his temperature, even down to ice and cold packs, but nothing had worked. It was a miracle he had not slipped into a coma, but according to the doctor it was simply a matter of time. No one would get through something like this intact; but once he succumbed to a coma, that was it according to the doctor. Illya had been delirious and incoherent, with only the vaguest awareness of anything around him, and no ability to relate to anything. His brain it seemed, was boiling away, and there was not a damn thing anyone could do to help him. Drugs had been all but useless.

Mr Solo had been in a few times too, to stand and stare down at his friend with sad, sorrowful eyes. He seemed almost in a daze of shock. Mr Solo, along with everyone else on the base had fallen under the spell of the enigmatic Russian man, with his floppy blond bangs and his shy smile. Illya was hanging in there still, but it was by the thinnest of threads.

Ireni was interested to note, even though it was Mr Solo who set their hearts thumping with his dashing good looks and charming manner, the women here at HQ seemed distraught, as though none of them had realised how much they thought of Illya until they were faced with the likelihood of his death. He was straight and direct, capable and totally professional, and yet Ireni was aware, Illya was possessed of a great wealth of charm when he chose to use it, and he had the sort of boyish good looks that set many woman's hearts fluttering. One of them was here now. Marion Raven, a young woman Solo and Kuryakin had encountered a while ago during one of their cases, and she clearly had a soft spot for Illya. Perhaps the guys had kept in touch with her, but however she knew of Illya's sickness, she was here, on the other side of the bed, dipping a towel into a bowl of cold water and wrapping it around his forehead desperate to try anything to halt the fever.

Nurse Ireni smiled at Miss Raven who smiled back, a little wanly.

"I wonder what Illya would say if he knew how many hearts are being wrung out here for him." She commented. Marion smiled.

"He's such a sweetie. He'd probably smile that shy smile and say nothing. That Napoleon Solo leads this poor boy astray."

Ireni laughed.

"I wondered why all the women here have been sighing and worrying about him. I thought they were all in love with him, but it isn't that at all. He brings out the mothering instinct in every girl."

"That too." Marion replied, feasting her eyes on Illya's face, running with sweat and tossing from side to side. "He will be alright in the end…. …won't he?"

"Pray!" Ireni replied, feeling for Illya's pulse once again. Marion's face fell.

Marion recalled very vividly her adventures with the two uncle agents following the murder of her father. Solo was a charmer all right, but he seemed to her to be very much the schemer; the suave, debonair type that got his kicks out of engineering traps for other people to fall into whilst he strode away with all the laurels. Perhaps that was overstating it a bit, but Illya was a completely different kettle of fish. She had misjudged him at first, thinking he was simply cold and calculating. As time wore on however, she had discovered that the truth was almost the complete opposite. He was sweet and warm-hearted, but had built up a cold, hard exterior in order to better perform his duties as an agent of UNCLE. Once she had managed to penetrate his protective armour, he revealed the tiniest glimpse into almost fathomless depths which she longed to explore. But Illya's protective screen of inscrutability was not readily torn down. She couldn't help secretly wondering what it was that he was protecting. He fascinated her. She would not go so far as to say she was in love with Illya...she had not even considered him in that way, but she longed to know him better, for him to allow her into his personal world, just a little way. From the little she had garnered from his associates here, no one had managed to venture very far into Illya's personal life; not even his best friend and partner, Napoleon Solo.

The agents of the New York HQ had little to do. They were unable to leave the premises, unable to complete any of their assignments or even communicate with the outside unless with the direct permission of Alexander Waverley himself. For the most part, they were willing enough to endure the waiting around on base, however tedious. The difficulty was the continuous testing by the medical staff on duty, and waiting to see if any others of them were destined to fall sick like Mr Kuryakin. After twenty-four hours the results of the tests came through and revealed that several of them had been exposed to the poison, but none of them had ingested nearly as much as Illya. The reason for that was simple enough. Those that had not taken in any of the poison at all were those whom had had assignments away from the city. Those who had taken in just a little had recently returned from abroad and had had no time to take in enough to make them sick. Illya on the other hand had been engaged with Solo on an important security assignment right there in New York City. The only oddity was the fact that Solo had not taken in any poison at all, and he had been right here, working beside the Russian. Doctor Peterson was curious and commented on it as he made his report to Mr Waverley. Waverley smiled in response.

"The answer to that is a simple one doctor. Mr Solo's downstairs neighbour decided to do a few home repairs without calling in an expert, and succeeded in setting fire to the entire floor, and doing a lot of damage. Mr Solo along with all his neighbours had to be evacuated from his home for a few weeks until the building was repaired and made safe again. He is still living in one of the local hotels."

"Lucky escape for Mr Solo. If not for that, we would have had the two of them here laid up."

"How is Mr Kuryakin progressing? Any good news to report?"

Peterson noted that Waverley sounded hopeful. He shook his head sorrowfully.

"I'm very sorry sir, but he is getting weaker and weaker. I don't know how much longer he can survive. We have at least identified the specific strain of poison that has been used, but it is of no help I'm afraid. There is no antidote for it, and no treatment as yet known to work."

"At least tell me there is a hope…?"

"Medical records connected with it are few and far between. Just eleven documented cases of its kind in the world, and as yet no survivors. Illya is hanging on by the skin of his teeth, but that is all…."

At that moment a siren blared throughout the facility and the doctor jumped like a startled hare and swore violently,

"Damn, it's Kuryakin!"

He took off down the corridor at a run, with Waverley following as quickly as he could. Doctor Peterson and Waverley arrived at medical at the same moment as Napoleon Solo. Marion Raven was crying softly as Nurse Ireni Chandler was applying CPR to the still form of Illya on the bed. The nurse shouted to the doctor without even looking up from what she was doing.

"He's gone into shock doctor!" she cried. "If we can't get him back quickly we'll lose him for good!"

She sounded as close to panic as he had ever known her to be. Waverley and Solo watched soberly as the medical staff dragged the heavy curtains closer round the bed, and they listened to the sounds of the defibrillator powering up. Solo wrapped his arms around Marion and felt her trembling.

"Please tell me he isn't going to die Napoleon. He can't die."

They heard the sound of the machine pulsing out a powerful electric shock and shuddered. They heard the muffled sounds of bustle and movement, and heard the machine powering up again.

"He's losing…" Waverley muttered in a matter of fact voice. Marion sobbed quietly on Napoleon's shoulder, and Napoleon closed his eyes briefly as a wave of grief passed over him.

"Come on, hold on Illya. Hold on. Don't let it beat you boy. Hold on."

The machine coughed a second time, then a third time…then a fourth time. Suddenly the siren was silenced. After a heart-freezing few seconds, a steady beep-beep-beep could be heard, and the curtains round the sick man's bed were pulled partially back once more. Doctor Peterson emerged wiping sweat from his face.

"That was a damn close shave sir." He told Waverley in a slightly shaky voice. "Kuryakin went into severe shock. I was seconds away from having to call it, when out of the blue he started responding. I hope we don't have another episode like that, because he is just too weak to survive it. I regret to have to tell you sir; that Mr Kuryakin has gone into a coma. He is no longer able to breathe without assistance, and his heart is in a very irregular rhythm. I have had no alternative but to put him on full life-support. In addition sir…he is showing the first signs of an infection."

"An infection? What sort of infection?" Waverley demanded.

"A cold."

Solo felt relief.

"Is that all? Illya gets colds quite frequently doctor. That isn't unusual."

The doctor's mouth turned down.

"You don't understand Mr Solo. In his present state, there is absolutely no way our friend here can fight it. The cold will grow and progress until it turns into full-blown pneumonia. Once that happens, he will die. There will be nothing I can do then to keep his airways clear. It's hard enough now. I'm sorry, but everything is against him. His chances as they are, are no more than fifteen percent. If this turns into pneumonia, his chances will drop to almost zero."

"But there must be medicines you can give him, antibiotics?"

"Of course there are, but anything we give him to fight an infection is just strengthening the hold that the poison has over him. The only way to weaken the effect of the poison is to lower his immune system. I am going to put up an isolation tent around his bed. No one is to have any physical contact with him from now on. This is my final throw of the dice. Lower his resistance to zero and wait for the poison to die, and hope he can survive long enough. Once the poison is dead and cleared completely from his system we will be free to kick-start his immune system again and treat him with all the antibiotics he needs. Either way though, it is still going to be up to him. Is his will strong enough?"

"Yes." Said Marion confidently. "His will is the strongest."

"Even though his daughter has just been murdered?"

Marion blinked.

"What? His daughter? I had no idea he was even married. That's horrible. Who would do something like that? How old was she?"

Mr Waverley took her by the hand.

"Katiya was in fact his niece my dear, whom he regards as a daughter. Come along now, we need to get out of here and let these good people get on with their work."

"But I want to sit with him. That's why I came!"

"I know dear, but we must wait until the doctor says it's okay."

Waverley hustled the young woman away, leaving Napoleon standing alone in the centre of the room like an island in a sea of people, staring at the disturbing sight of his friend and partner lying still, surrounded by machines and wires and tubes, and now by people….and finally encompassed on all sides within a large clear plastic tent, free of all contamination. All Illya's oxygen coming now from a mask that covered half his face. He shuddered at the thought that but for a remarkably well-timed accident, he would possibly have been laid out there beside Illya, fighting for his life.

In the recreation room, many of the female agents were attempting to divert the attention of their male counterparts in various ways, with varying levels of success. On the whole though, the mood on the base was tense and worried. Illya was extremely well-liked and respected by everyone, and as the news from medical got worse and worse, even the games and banter gave way to silence and pacing. They were all ready to give up their lives in the course of their work if necessary, but this was different. A clear attempt at murder, an attempted multiple murder, as they had all been targeted. Right now UNCLE agents from three countries were throwing all their resources into finding and punishing the culprits. In the mean-time they were all prisoners of their own base, watching one of their most popular comrades die slowly.

Twenty-four hours later, Doctor Peterson studied the latest blood test results and shook his head. Poison levels in Kuryakin's bloodstream were still fairly high. The levels had dropped slightly, but if they continued to drop at this slow rate, the poor man would not have a chance. He prayed Kuryakin would continue to hold on to life.

Fort-eight hours passed. Napoleon Solo and Marion Raven were sitting either side of their friend's bed, watching him intently. They heard the doctor conferring with his staff as the latest blood results came in. Solo looked up.

"Well, Doctor?"

"A slight drop but nothing very significant. We're running out of time here, Mr Solo."

"Perhaps the sicker Illya gets, the weaker the poison gets, Doctor."

He nodded.

"In which case both will die together."

Marion slipped her hand into the protective plastic dome, into the manipulator gloves the medical personnel used to touch the sterile interior. She grasped Illya's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Come on Illya. You have to keep fighting this. Don't give up, just keep hanging in there."

Solo said nothing, but sat and stared at the hand Marion had grasped, as she let go of it and withdrew her hand from the glove. The hand was moving slightly, scrabbling lightly at the sheet. He leaned forward as Marion's eyes opened wide. Illya had not moved a muscle, neither hand or finger or even an eyelash for more than two days now.

"Illya! Wake up boy."

Illya's pale blue eyes opened a fraction, but Solo could not tell whether it was a reflex, or whether his friend was actually awake.

"Doctor Peterson!"

Peterson hurried over and examined his patient, then stood up as though defeated.

"Mr Kuryakin has partially awakened from his coma…but his physical condition has I'm afraid deteriorated further. His cold has worsened. His lungs and airways are becoming dangerously congested. We are going to tilt his bed, raise his head in the hope that it will help his lungs to drain. Otherwise there is a risk he may suffocate or drown internally. I'm sorry Mr Solo, Miss Raven but I must ask you to leave now. Besides, what comes next will not be pleasant for him to go through or for you to have to witness, especially as he is a close friend and colleague.

Napoleon knew what would come next. They were going to have to insert a drain into Illya's lungs in an attempt to keep the congestion clear enough that he would be able to keep breathing. How close was Illya to death now? How could anyone do something like this to someone else? If only he could get out there and find the offenders! He turned and walked away suddenly, hoping that no one would notice the dampness around his eyes. He heard a shout from behind him and suddenly he started to hurry. He threw open the door of the men's cloakroom and locked himself into an empty cubicle. Once in the solitude of the toilet cubicle, he leaned back against the door and surrendered to the tears that had been threatening ever since this had all begun. He slid slowly to the floor, making no sound, tears sliding down his cheeks, no longer able to control them.

Alexander Waverley was uncomfortably aware that morale on this HQ had plummeted since young Kuryakin's poisoning; no one could raise a smile as the news from medical grew more and more grim, and now Mr Solo had vanished. Marion Raven, whom had refused to return home while Illya was sick, and now entrapped here since the lockdown, was with him in his office.

"I think Napoleon went to the men's room sir." She told him. "I tried to catch up with him but I couldn't follow him in there could I?"

Waverley stood up.

"I think it's time I visited the men's room. Excuse me my dear."

When he reached the cloakroom, Waverley made sure the room was empty and then locked the door.

"All right, Mr Solo, its time you came out of there, unless you have developed some kind of latent bladder problem."

Solo came out of his cubicle for all the world like a recalcitrant schoolboy. Waverley repressed a smile. These young men!

"All right Mr Solo, this is enough now. You're supposed to be the chief agent of section two here. I can't have you of all people locking yourself in the loo when things start looking grim! What did we train you for?"

"I just can't bear to see him like that sir." Against his will, a fat tear rolled down Solo's cheek. He wiped it away hurriedly. Waverley regarded him thoughtfully.

"Mr Kuryakin has been threatened with death before. You've believed him dead before now and it seems you've hardly batted an eyelid. He is still alive up there Mr Solo. He may be very sick and very weak, but he is still hanging on. He's an UNCLE agent, trained to survive, to handle anything that comes his way. And so are you. Are you going to go to pieces now, add insult to the injury? So who is this poisoner hurting the most? Mr Kuryakin himself or Mr Kuryakin's friends? You go to pieces you're playing right into his hands. So what if Mr Kuryakin dies? What then? There's nothing wrong with emotion, Mr Solo. That is what makes us human, but letting the emotion get the better of you; that's the mistake. Why are you hiding in here? The men all know you are the closest to Mr Kuryakin, they are all expecting you to be the most upset of them all. They are not expecting their number one agent to hide in the toilets like a sobbing six-year-old!"

"I wasn't sobbing Mr Waverley!" Solo retorted, as he splashed his face with cold water. "I was contemplating the future…that's all."

Waverley nodded sadly.

"I know Mr Solo. I was too."

Seventy-two hours. Kuryakin had awakened fully from his coma, but had to be very heavily sedated. The amount of pain he was experiencing was excruciating. Seeing him suffer so much was upsetting to everyone, but the fact was that he was still alive. Raging fevers and chills, fluid on the lungs and difficulty breathing, unbearable cramping pains in all his muscles, weak and irregular heart rhythm and more, and yet he was still hanging on.

One hundred and twenty hours later…five full days Illya Kuryakin had been fighting for his life. He had spent the last two days on the very brink of death itself, with the medical staff constantly by his side unable to turn away; for each time they did so, it seemed, his heart would stop beating or his airways would become so clogged that he would start to suffocate. Twice they had to bring out the defibrillator again, whilst all over the base everyone stopped whatever they were doing and held their breaths waiting for the alarms to shut down. With Solo and Waverley watching for the fifth time with bated breaths, the doctor once again examined the patient's blood test results. They watched him blink in surprise and without another word, he thrust the paper at Solo and hurried away, barking commands at the nurses. Solo poured over the paper, Waverley breathing down his neck.

"What does it say?" Waverley demanded. Solo looked up slowly.

"It says blood tests read clear. The poison has finally cleared his body completely. Illya has defeated the poison. All he has to do now is defeat the pneumonia."

"Let's hope it's not too late for that Mr Solo."

Needless to say Doctor Peterson put Illya on a course of powerful antibiotics, and the entire base waited another two days as their colleague continued to deteriorate before he started finally to respond to the medication. It wasn't until Illya had continued to improve steadily for a full three days that Doctor Peterson agreed that the isolation tent could be removed, but even so, all staff and visitors had to be robed and masked before they were allowed to approach the patient's bed. Marion Raven, suitably robed crept to his side and was rewarded when he opened his eyes. Illya's unmistakeable smile shone from his eyes, although his mouth was still covered by the oxygen mask. When he saw who she was, he reached up a hand and weakly pulled down his mask.

"Another alien visitor. Hello Marion."

He was clearly still very, very weak, but even so the improvement was amazing. As the poison was gone, so was its direct effects. He was no longer in any pain.

"Illya. You've been under the weather for quite a while. It's good to see you awake."

Illya smiled weakly. He still felt very under the weather, but considering the amount of pain he remembered going through, this was nothing by comparison. Mind you he had never been good at putting up with pain. He opened his mouth to say something, but he hadn't the energy. His eyes rolled in on themselves, and he slept.

In his office, Alexander Waverley leaned forward expectantly as the International Intercom buzzed. It was an incoming call from another UNCLE HQ. He reached forward and flipped a switch. It was the office in Rome, Italy. The silver-grey bearded face of the chief of the Roman HQ smiled down at him.

"Ah, Alexander Waverley! I have good news for you. London, Geneva and Paris have all converged here in their search for the perpetrators of this New York attack. It was a THRUSH splinter group, attempting to make THRUSH command sit up and take notice, but it has backfired. We have every one of them now under lock and key, and the lab where they were manufacturing this poison they were using has been destroyed completely. Our scientists here are studying the chemical make-up of the poison, but I'm sorry to say there is no antidote. The best you can hope for is wide dispersal. Watered down a thousand times, I'm told it causes a serious case of cramps which will cure itself after a week or so. How is your man? Is he still hanging in there?"

Waverley nodded, palpable relief showing in his face.

"Thank you Antonio, yes. Mr Kuryakin was at death's door for seven days, but now he is starting to recover well."

"That's good news. That means these people have completely failed. Well, we've been looking into the other matter you reported to us, the murder of his niece. We found the body of a seven-year old girl who had been killed in a car accident. Her corpse had been stolen from the hospital just hours after her death. There was a superficial likeness in her. They shot the dead girl in the face in order to strengthen her likeness to young Katarina Kuryakin."

"So Katarina Kuryakin is safe?"

Antonio Santini nodded.

"Our investigations showed that although they succeeded in finding the two of them and murdering the child's grandfather, the child herself managed to get away and hide in time. Now she is under the protection of Agent Pyotr Molovitski from the Moscow office. Agent Molovitski says he and an `old friend' are bringing the child to New York under special visa. Once all the safety checks have been completed to the homes of all UNCLE agents, and special water filtration systems installed, the Code Red can be safely lifted. One by one our offices around the globe are starting to register green. Once everyone has declared Green, the Code Red will automatically be lifted, and your outer doors will unlock for you."

"Thank you Antonio. I am told that we should be Green by the end of the day. How many are still left still to register?"

"Rio, Cairo, Sydney, Madrid and Calcutta. They all report likely readiness within a few hours. By the way, the Russian agent Molovitski who is escorting the child will book into a hotel when he arrives in New York, and wait until he receives the general signal for Code Green, then he will signal you for permission to bring the visitors down to you."

"And Mr Kuryakin will receive a big surprise. You are certain that there is no mistake? His niece Katiya is definitely alive and well? I would hate to give him good news only to find that there has been a mistake."

"Well then, perhaps you should not tell him until they get to you. Who knows what tricks Thrush might still have tried to pull? The two of them will know each other."

Waverley nodded.

"Thank you Antonio. New York out."

Waverley rested his elbows on his desk, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully.

In medical, Marion was watching Illya toss and turn in his sleep, and smiled as he opened his eyes.

"You're still here?"

"I came down with you when you first got sick, and then the Code Red was sounded and all the doors locked. I've been a permanent guest of this establishment ever since."

"Security procedure under special conditions. Sorry Marion. I don't remember much about…."

Suddenly his eyes widened with shock. Marion leapt to her feet.

"What is it? Illya, tell me what's wrong?"

"I remember now….it was KatIya. They killed Katiya!"

Tears coursed down his face, and he turned away from her and refused to speak. Appalled, Marion turned to the nurse on duty.

"Clarice, who is or was Katiya? His girlfriend? His wife? Who?"

Clarice shook her head sadly.

"His niece…adoptive daughter. Six years old...she would be seven by now actually."

Illya's recovery slowed perceptibly once his memory returned of the letter he had received, informing him of the great loss he had suffered. He still had all of the letters little Katiya had sent to him over the past year, and through them, and the letters he had sent to her, they had started to regard one another as though a real father and daughter. He kept telling himself that until the child's identity was confirmed, it could be anyone lying in that Italian morgue, but in his heart of hearts he didn't believe it.

How would he ever be able to face life now, knowing that he would never see little Katiya again? Never again receive a letter from her? He saw again that sweet little angelic face, white blond curly hair she had inherited from him, those big brown eyes she had presumably inherited from her mother. He could see her now, looking down at him with the same wide smile of adoration in her eyes that he remembered so well.

"Papa!"

A little pair of arms encircled his neck, a warm little cheek rubbed against his own. Startled he pulled back and reached out a hand to touch the little face next to his own. The little girl raised her eyebrows in surprise and then smiled at him.

"Privyet Papa!"

"Privyet kotyonok!"

Illya glanced up and immediately did a double take. His old friend Pyotr Molovitski was standing at the end of his bed beside an elderly man, at least eighty years old. Boris Abramovich Popov, the old man that Illya's great grandfather had adopted as a little boy; Illya had always known him as Uncle Dimitry Kuryakin. Waverley and Solo were standing at the other end of the room trying to be inconspicuous. He smiled at Uncle Dimitry weakly and feasted his eyes on the little girl once more. Ignoring everyone else in the room he focussed on Katiya. Katiya whom he had thought he would never see again. Katiya continued to speak to him in Russian.

"Papa, they said you were very sick. Are you better now?"

"I was sick, but I will be all right now. I was afraid I would never see you again kitten. I've missed you."

"I missed you too Papa. I was scared when they said you were sick."

Her lower lip quivered.

"Someone took away dedushka, and when he was found in the sea, he was dead. I was scared and I ran away. Pyotr found me. Papa, I miss deda!"

Illya hugged the little girl. She noticed how feeble his hug was, and she put her hands on his cheeks.

"Will you promise to get better really soon Papa? Will I be able to stay with you, now? I don't want to have to hide from you again."

"When the doctor says I can go home, I'll take you to see all the best things in New York, how about that? We can go and play ball in Central Park. Good?"

Katiya responded by giving Illya another enthusiastic hug. Illya looked over her head and found Uncle Dimitry still smiling, his face full of relief.

"We didn't know whether we would find you alive or dead, boy." Dimitry told Illya in a low voice. "When young Pyotr here came to see me in Kyiv to tell me what had happened, the death of Kir Yuriyev and the fact that you had been poisoned and might not survive, I had to come along. I may not be a true-blood Kuryakin, but…"

Illya nodded.

"I was made the official Kuryakin heir, and I say you are a true-blood, which would give you the final say over katiya's future if I was not here."

Illya's eyes met those of his partner, and almost imperceptibly, Napoleon nodded. He understood well his friend's unspoken request. He cleared his throat.

"Doctor, Mister Waverly, can we all leave the room for a few minutes, to give our visitors some privacy?"

The doctor looked dubious, and then nodded. He ushered everyone, including Waverly out of the room, and took Old Dimitry to one side before he followed them.

"You speak English sir?"

The old man nodded.

"A little…it has been…long time."

"Good. Sir, Illya is still sick and very weak. I can't give you too long, he still needs constant care. The slightest change in him, the slightest and you must press the call button…you see it?"

The old man nodded.

Once they were alone, Illya feasted his eyes on the little girl, then enfolding her into his arms, he turned to Uncle Dimitry.

"Do you know what they have planned for her after this?"

Dimitry shrugged uncertainly.

"I know what I would do." He replied evasively. Illya raised his eyebrows and his uncle smiled.

"This organisation young Pyotr was telling me about, THRUSH were able to almost successfully fake the death of a little girl. I imagine that UNCLE would be capable of doing something similar? Make THRUSH believe…"

They turned to look at katiya, who had still not moved. She lay in his arms, her eyes fixed on his face, never moving. She realised they were both looking at her and sat up.

"Will I have to run away from you again papa Illya?"

Illya's eyes met those of his uncle.

"You will be returning to Kyiv I imagine?"

"Yes, but not until you're well."

"Katiya needs a home, Uncle Dimitry. I'm not prepared to allow her to go through the things I went through…it isn't as if I don't have the resources to give her everything she would ever need…"

Dimitry nodded.

"I know, but only if you return to the Soviet Union. Your assets will be seized if you try to benefit from any of them whilst you are here."

Illya nodded. He was aware of this. So once again, this problem was raising its ugly head. If he wanted to take care of Katiya, and he had the resources to do so without the need to work for a living, but he would have to leave UNCLE, leave the United States and return to his homeland for good. The problem was making his head ache. Dimitry noticed his eyes starting to look glassy, and he nudged the little girl.

"Come along little one. Papa is getting very tired. Remember he is still sick. We'll leave him for a while and let him get some rest. We'll come back later."

Katiya hugged Illya fervently, then took Uncle Dimitry's hand obediently and together they left the room. The doctor nodded at Dimitry's message, and he and his staff returned to work. Napoleon was leaning against the wall of the corridor, his arms folded across his chest. Dimitry recognised him as the chubby individual who had visited him in Kyiv a year ago with Illya. The two had been in disguise at the time. He smiled.

"You've lost weight, Boris Popov!"

Napoleon grinned. Dimitry took him gently by the shoulder and they walked together down the corridor.

"We have a problem Mister Solo."

Alexander Waverly was nodding sympathetically. He was aware of the massive toll that The Mikhail Affair had taken on his two top agents, Illya in particular. It had taken the young blond agent three months to get back out in the field. In spite of the provision that had been made for Illya and his niece to exchange letters semi regularly through the UNCLE offices, Illya had been in what the psychology department had called, a highly emotionally charged state. The head of the psyche evaluations team had had his work cut out trying to get Kuryakin to cooperate and show up for his appointments. Finally, however, he had declared that there was nothing more that he could do to help the Russian. Eager to get out of the offices, Illya had promised anything if he could be once more approved for active field duty. The final decision had been left with Napoleon Solo who knew his partner best.

Napoleon, sitting in Waverly's office with Mister Waverly, Pyotr Molovitski and the two Kuryakins, reflected over the past year. That old affair had been traumatic for everyone of course, with Solo and Kuryakin being declared dead, but by the time they were home and life was beginning to return to normal, it was as though everyone else had forgotten anything had ever been wrong. He had struggled for a while, but he had adjusted well enough. He always did. He knew though, that the past year had not been easy for Illya.

Now Illya had someone to worry about besides his partner, someone young and vulnerable, a child in his life to care about, his nightmares in particular had always seemed to be centered around her. How would Illya react if Katiya was taken away from him again? But the alternative was not pleasing either. Illya would only be happy if he had his niece/daughter beside him where he could care for her personally. He looked up and realised that everyone was looking at him.

"Mister Waverly, do you want to keep Illya in New York, or would you cheerfully transfer him to Moscow?"

Waverly shook his head.

"It took a lot of time and trouble and arguments on my part to get him assigned here, Mister Solo. Mister Kuryakin belongs here. I have no desire to see him transferred anywhere."

Waverly smiled down at the child who was looking confused.

"You're thinking that in order to care for the child himself, he would feel the need to return home?"

Napoleon nodded. He and Illya had argued this whole question a year ago. Illya would not have changed his opinion since that time. Dimitry leaned forward and cleared his throat. His knowledge of English had been acquired years ago and he had not used it for years. He was rather rusty these days. He tried to recall how to say in English what he wanted to say.

"Sir," he began, addressing Mister Waverly, "I have been… told… that UNCLE agents like Illya… not allowed to… er… have family? Not Be tied… and I understand why; My Illyusha is a wealthy man back home, but he is not permitted to…"

Waverly nodded. He quite understood that. Dimitry nodded.

"He knows he could come home and care for Katiya without having to work. If he stay here…he will have to give up Katiya, or give up UNCLE work… he is secretly afraid that your people will deport him if he no working for UNCLE… you understand me?"

His companions nodded. Dimitry thought, then continued.

"If America send Illya home, is bad for him. Gulag or maybe firing squad."

Napoleon shook his head. He locked his eyes on his boss.

"Surely some arrangement…some compromise could be reached sir? Last time Illya gave in because Katiya had her grandfather. Now he is dead, he couldn't possibly turn his back on her. But if Illya just leaves UNCLE and goes home, whether the child is with him or not, he'll still be in trouble with the authorities wouldn't he?" He glanced at Molovitski for confirmation. The Russian CEA nodded.

"Very probably. The kind of trouble that Wilhelm Tarasov will be unable to interfere with."

Waverly looked shrewdly at Solo.

"So you are asking me to break protocol for the sake of your partner Mister Solo? And what about the next worthy cause? One break in protocol provides a precedence, and before we know it…No, I am sorry, but I cannot countenance that."

"But sir…"

Waverly held up his hand.

"I am not finished yet. There are other things that might be done. This child is at present a refugee, correct? She is in danger of life and has no living blood relations anywhere else in the world, so she had the right to demand protection…" he looked around the room and his eyes rested on Solo.

"You and Illya are often away on missions, so even if he had custody of his niece…sorry, daughter…he would have to find someone to sit with her whilst he is away, and that in itself would provide an unacceptable break in routine for her…but what if we were to organise things the other way around?"

Solo frowned in puzzlement.

"Sir?"

Waverly smiled.

"Well as the old saying goes, there are more ways than one of skinning a rabbit…"

Illya was fully dressed and waiting to be discharged. He was miserable. His visitors had told him they would be gone for a couple of days, and he had not seen them since. That was four days ago. Napoleon had been in a couple of times, that was all, and even Molovitski had apparently returned home with no more than a quick handshake and a wink but no word of explanation at what had happened to everyone.

Normally he would have walked out of medical, but Waverly had issued him with a direct order instructing him to stay put or he would be severely disciplined. So Illya stayed put, feeling ignored and frustrated. Surely he should be making his own plans for moving? Waverly had agreed to a meeting to discuss his future, but so far he had apparently been too busy. Just like everyone else. Busy, busy, busy. What was going on around here these days?

The door opened and his partner stood there, an expression on his face that Illya couldn't quite fathom. A look compounding of excitement, fear, expectation and also somewhat apologetic.

"Napoleon! Napoleon?"

"Illya, we've been conspiring behind your back."

"About what?"

"We know what will happen to you if you just return home of your own volition."

"That's why I need Mister Waverly's help…Napoleon, what has been going on around here? I've been sitting here waiting on my own for two hours!"

Napoleon sat beside him on the bed, then got up again and paced around the room.

"You want to stay here, right? Doing what we're doing?"

"Of course, but you know it's impossible…"

"Well, you can't be a section two and still be the primary carer of a dependent child, of course not. But you go home to stay, you'll be arrested by your own people. And Katiya really will be on her own…"

"She will at least be my heir…"

"Yes, but what good would that be to her at her age? It's you she needs. What you need is for someone to adopt her here in America, someone who will provide the loving environment and stability she needs…." Napoleon raised his hand, forestalling Illya's interruption. "Wait my friend, I haven't finished. I told Mister Waverly that you would not be happy about that, so we have come to a different arrangement."

"You mean you have taken the decision about Katiya's future out of my hands? Again?"

Napoleon nodded.

"Yes, but hear me out, Illya. Arrangements are already in place for you to officially adopt Katarina Mikhailovna Illyinichna Kuryakina…all it needs is your signature and it will be official."

Illya's eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened. For a moment he gaped, then he found his voice.

"So what is the catch?"

"My friend, you will be her father, the one with the legal right to make decisions for her. But as she arrived here as a refugee in danger of her life and has claimed protection, she is entitled to stay here permanently. That means you can, too as her only living relative. You can appoint someone reliable and loving as a foster family to care for her whilst we are working. If you were to take all the vacation time you are entitled to, you will be free to go and stay with her, or have her living with you…or whatever you wish. That my friend, is the closest compromise we are able to make for you. If of course, she lives close enough, you could even see her at evenings and on the weekends."

Illya's heart was beating so hard he couldn't help wondering if his friend could hear it.

"And you have someone in mind?"

Napoleon smiled.

"Actually, yes."

"Well, who?"

"My brother Winston and his wife Cecily…"

"Winston and Cecily? They want to take on a little Soviet girl they don't know?"

Napoleon smiled.

"Actually, she has been with them for three days, just to see if they all like each other. Your niece...your daughter I mean, has already learned quite a lot of English, and my ten-year old niece Polly already thinks the world of her. She is really excited at the thought of having a little sister to play with. My brother and his wife think Katiya is a lovely little girl and they are really hoping that you will agree."

Illya had met Napoleon's brother and his family, of course. Like all of his partner's family, they were a loving, welcoming family, with huge hearts. He could not think of anyone better to take care of Katiya aside from himself. He had no idea where Winston lived though. Napoleon smiled when Illya asked the question.

"They live in New Jersey, on a farmstead at the edge of a village. From Katiya's bedroom window you can see the Hudson River, and with binoculars, the UNCLE building. You can drive there in less than an hour, or by train in no time. What do you say?"

Illya looked away. It was still not what he really wanted, but what would be? He looked back at his partner.

"You said I could go and visit with her?"

"Yes. They have a very comfortable sofa…"

Illya smiled suddenly.

"I could still see her every day when we're not away, and I can still provide for her?"

"You don't need to provide; we've already got that covered. Kir Yuriyev's income, based on the disposal of his properties a year ago has gone into a trust fund under the care of Mister Waverly, for katiya's care. Anything out of the ordinary that needs paying for, the bill goes to Mister Waverly, who will see that it is taken care of. All you have to do is be her father. Illya? What do you say?"

Illya looked up, his eyes gleaming oddly.

"I should like to talk to my daughter, Napoleon. If she is happy, then so am I."

 

Illya and Katiya walked through Central park, Katiya's eyes wide with wonder. They found their way on to the broad man path and eventually reached the lake. Katiya rushed up and sat on the little stone wall that encircled the fountain and looked around taking everything in with big, wide eyes. Illya joined her.

"So little one, it seems that we have few choices. I am not allowed to take care of you myself and stay in my job. If I leave my job I will have no money to care for you, which is why Mister Waverly and Uncle Napoleon decided that it might be a good idea for someone else to care for you where you and I can visit each other when I am not away working. But I want you to be happy. What do you think of it at the house of Uncle Wint and Aunty Ce?"

The little girl took Illya's hand and rested her head on his arm.

"I was scared at first, but they were very kind to me. They are teaching me to speak American." She informed him, making Illya smile. "They have a little girl a bit older than me who wants me to sleep in her bedroom with her, so there are two beds in her bedroom. The other bedroom we decided we wanted it to be a special place for you to sleep in when you come to see me. It isn't very big, but the bed is really enormous, and really soft!"

"Hey, have you been jumping on the bed?"

The child nodded and Illya laughed and ruffled her hair.

"You made yourself at home then. Do you think you might be happy there with them? I won't always be able to come to you. Mister Waverly sends me away a lot to do jobs in all sorts of other places, and sometimes we are gone for days or even weeks at a time. But when I am not away I can come to see you, or you can come to me after school?"

Katiya got up and stood in front of him, and as he was still sitting, she was eye-to-eye with him.

"I will always be happy there, papa, because they are all really nice, and I'm not hiding from you anymore. Polly has a telephone in her house…she has one right outside her bedroom!"

"So that you and I can telephone each other?"

She nodded enthusiastically. Illya looked at this little girl who had so unexpectedly stolen his heart a year ago.

"Well, I signed a special piece of paper today kitten, so it means that I am not just Uncle Illya anymore. I really am your new papa now. You are really special to me."

"I love you papa!"

"Okay, so we are agreed then? You stay with Uncle Wint and Aunty Ce, and I'll come over when I can. When I'm on holiday from work, you come and live with me? That means that you and I have two weeks to be together right now, because the doctor won't let me go back to work until I have had more rest. So little one, what do you want to do first?"

Her eyes lit up and she pointed.

"I would love to have a ride on the horse and cart, papa!"

Illya smiled, and his heart ached with love for the little girl.

"Come on then, race you!"

Hand in hand the two started to run.


End file.
